Mother
by Giraffe on the Moon
Summary: The parallel stories of two women and their interactions in the dangerous world of the Nobility. D encounters Minerva while crossing the wastelands, and another woman long ago is pulled into the machinations of the greatest Noble of all. No fairytale end
1. Meetings

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the VHD characters, places, etc.

Chapter 1: Meetings

They were coming across the wastelands, heading towards him. D could see them from beneath the brim of his hat, wavering smudges against an endless gold backdrop. He had smelled them before he'd see them, a mixture of animal and human sweat drifting sluggishly across the parched earth. It was a small caravan of humans, a family. A man with rough features and a scruffy jaw sat at the front of a battered old wagon, the reins held in his hands loosely as the oxen plodded forward. He was young, nothing particularly to look at, but D could tell how sharp his eyes were from here.

A wave of nausea overpowered him and he looked down, gritting his teeth to fight against either passing out or vomiting. His airways were constricting, threatening to close up entirely. If he hadn't been so bent on getting across the wasteland so fast he wouldn't be here now. Then again, he had been almost openly fleeing from a group of hunters tailing him. The world was changing.

"Oh look Minnie! There's a man there by one of the old sky roads!" shouted a child's voice distantly. D wanted to look up but concentrated instead on deep, easy breathing. If he wasn't careful his chest would seize up. The shade was helping. Maybe he could get by.

"He looks sick, Minnie," another, even younger voice whined, as if concerned. D gathered up his patience, hoping against hope that they would leave him. He'd be finished if they reacted with hostility to him. By this time he could hear the grinding of the wheels along the destroyed earth and the plod of a yoke of oxen. One lowed. He heard more hooves then there should be for just one yoke, which was all he had been able to make out before.

"Traveler," he was hailed. D closed his eyes, resolving. It was a woman's voice, the timbre authoritative and decisive. He thought it strange that the man had not called out to him if anyone was to respond. His horse, lathering at the mouth beside him, wheezed something like a whicker and shifted. Slowly, he forced the muscles in his neck to lift his head, one vertebra at a time.

An old nag's legs came into view, almost cantering towards him, and he caught the curling of bare toes through the stirrups. He followed a pair of exposed legs up to the knee before he saw a dirty, wrinkled blue dress, abused by the sun and worn too hard here in the wastes. He couldn't see her face until she passed into the shadows of the highway, where he first noticed the varying shades of autumn in her hair ranging from red, to gold, to earthy brown. Her startlingly blue eyes were fixed on him as she reined to a halt, fully able to see his face now.

He watched as she studied him intently, her eyes detailing the sharp angles of his elfish features and the noble lines of his jaw and nose. Meanwhile, he traced her feminine features framed by matted, sweaty hair. There was something cheerful about her, and he found her fascination with him odd. There was no fear, only an all consuming curiosity.

"The wasteland is a demanding mistress," she said, as a smile slowly spread itself back across her face. She put her hands on the saddle horn and pushed herself over onto one stirrup, swinging her leg over and then down onto the earth. She landed with a rough grace, and he pegged her for a farm girl. "You look parched. Have a drink on me." She pulled a water skin from the saddlebags and held it out to him, all that hair tumbling halfway into her face. She smelled a bit sour, but D couldn't fault her for that in this heat. There were no inns along the way to stop and bathe in.

Over her shoulder he saw the caravan had stopped, the plain man with sharp eyes standing now, his hand hovering around a pistol at his hip. There was another man, this one handsome with luxuriant blond curls, approaching already. He, like the woman before him, looked more fascinated then frightened. D drew a deep breath against his tight chest.

"Your kindness is unnecessary," he said softly, as loud as he could muster. She seemed to blur a bit out of focus as she stood up and pulled the cork out of the water skin.

"That's what makes it kindness. Go on and drink." She offered the skin again, and D's natural urge for survival took him. He was so thirsty. He accepted silently and took a restrained drink. "Take as much as you need," she urged him, a smile playing on her face. He could hear the blond coming up on them as the warm water seeped down his throat, refreshing despite its temperature. "There's water for your horse as well."

D looked towards her and saw her standing with her hands on the horse's muzzle. She stroked it and crooned the way farm girls tended to do with animals. The horse, tired as it was in spite of the cybernetic augmentations that made it superior to a regular animal, seemed to sigh wearily and drop his head into her arms. She chuckled, stroking his jaws and hugging his weary face. He snorted into her dress, looking like he wished he could just lean against her and pass out.

"I think he'd like a drink," she persuaded.

"There won't be enough for you," D stated more then asked. She smiled.

"We'll have enough to get by with. Jaiming Trading Post isn't so far from here if Drayden is any judge. We'll be there tomorrow evening," she assured him. "And you? Where is it you're heading?" She turned to face him as the augmented horse put his head over her shoulder, commanding she keep up with the gently caress on his nose. His glazed eyes looked like they couldn't see anything, but the touch was enough to calm him.

"Valdas,"

"Jaiming is right on the way. Why don't you ride with us?" she suggested. Half of D really wanted to take her up on the offer, but he knew better. For them to ride into town showing him any degree of kindness would jeopardize their well being. Times were changing, becoming even less forgiving of his kind. The water was an incalculable gesture on her part anyway, and he knew she knew what he was. "You're hardly well, and this beast will die long before you get there if you don't let me give him some water. Won't you, poor thing?" she turned to the horse, who grumbled something and stomped a hoof. His tongue flickered out as he chewed on his bit. "You see? You're outvoted."

"You're a Dhampire, aren't you?" asked the blonde that had finally arrived. D turned to look at him.

"Mind your tongue," the woman chided, a touch of iron in her voice. The blond glanced at her as he fished into the pocket of his trousers. The sleeves of his dirty shirt were rolled back, and he wore no shoes either. His suspenders looked a bit threadbare.

"I've heard this can help with Heat Sickness. It is Heat Sickness, isn't it?" he asked, his large brown eyes fastened on D with an inquisitive severity D had never come across. He stared back into the handsome, sun burnt face. In his extended palm was a small pouched smelling faintly of herbs. The woman came up now, peering at it. Slowly, D reached out and lifted the pouch.

"Heat Sickness?" she asked, looking at her brother. "What's that?"

"I understand that Dhampires suffer from it after prolonged or intense exposure to the sun," the boy explained. He wasn't so much a boy as he was a young man. "Hard to breath, exhaustion, faintness," he looked back at D, who felt himself suddenly trying to cover up his weakness. "I've heard those herbs help."

"Now where did you learn about that?" the woman asked. The young man was careful to avoid her eyes as he stood up.

"I'll get the girls to make room in the wagon. He should ride with us at least as far as Jaiming," he told her, still not looking back at her. He swung around and marched back towards the caravan. There were two small girls out now, standing in the sunlight together and watching intensely. They were both standing beside a second yoke of oxen tied behind the wagon.

"There you have it. Doctor's orders," the woman said after a moment, when the blonde was halfway to the wagon. The sharp-eyed man asked him something and looked to be on his guard at the response. His eyes turned to D and the woman. "What's in the pouch?" she pressed, leaning towards him a little.

"Ground Belhan leaves and Sartin roots," he answered, immediately recognizing the smell and texture of the two precious herbs.

"Victor's always been resourceful," she said thoughtfully. "Will you listen to him and ride with us as far as Jaiming?" D looked past her again at the wagon. The sharp-eyed man was staring him down disdainfully as the two small girls had vanished. Victor's legs were hanging out of the wagon. "Don't worry about Drayden. Come on."

"May I?" D held up the water bottle and herbs, asking to combine them. She nodded as she took the reins of his horse and went to collect those of her own. D emptied the entire packet into the water skin meanwhile and took another drink. He could taste the bittersweet herbs on his tongue, and while relief was not immediate, he felt better knowing it was coming.

Painfully he put his palm down flat against the ground and then proceeded to push himself up. His muscles unbent slowly and he followed after her and stepped out into the sunlight leading both of their horses. The augmented mount walked with his head low, pained by his overworked muscles but hanging on. It was a good mount, one of the best he'd ever ridden.

Passing out into the sunlight was like having hot coals dumped down his back. D almost cringed, but narrowed his eyes instead. He walked as gracefully as he could though, following the red head back to her small caravan. She crossed the burning sands barefoot without thinking about it. D didn't know how she could stand it.

They walked for a small eternity, moving slowly closer to sanctuary. He felt his lungs constricting the longer they were out, and took another drink of the warmed water. It sloshed down his throat and he hoped the herbs would take affect quickly.

"We made you a space!" chimed one of the small girls, the elder of the two. She had a beak for a nose and lanky black hair. She waved him emphatically out of the sunlight. Her sister, some years younger, jumped up and down beside her.

"Come in! Come in!" the younger insisted, still too shy to come out from behind the elder.

"Allow me to introduce my younger sisters. Carlotta is there with the dark hair and Rosemary has the brown curls. We call them Carla and Rosy. They're full of energy but they don't bite," the red head explained. Victor was coming around from the other side of the wagon with a small bucket of water. He planted it in the sand before the eager horse, which immediately threw his snout into it and slurped water as if he'd never tasted anything so sweet. D couldn't blame the beast. He'd been ridden hard with very few breaks.

"Running from something?" spoke a second man's voice. D realized it was Drayden who stood staring him down, his eyes cold and hard.

"Aren't we all?" the red head shot back, her voice laced with an admonishment. Except for that subtle edge, there was no indication of her irritation, just a smile stuck to her face as cheerily as a freshly white washed cottage looked on a bright day. "This is Drayden, my elder brother. You've already met Victor, and my name is Minerva."

"D," he provided before she had lifted her head from the slight bow. She was not a product of finishing school by any stretch, but her country manners were quaint and amusing.

"An appropriate name," she nodded, putting her hand onto the horn of her old nag and hoisting herself up. She reached between her legs and pulled her dress through, before seating herself. "So mysterious. Carla, Rosy, make sure you don't bother our guest too much."

"Minnie! Can't we braid his hair?" Carla protested.

"No such thing,"

"Braids! Braids!" Rosy insisted determinedly, now looking at D fiercely.

"You haven't finished with Victor," Minerva shook her head. "Our guest needs a little rest."

"Rosy, Carla, I have a riddle for you," Victor smiled, appearing beside D. He climbed in and crawled towards the girls. "What has many eyes but can never see?" he asked, looking between them. Carla and Rosy stood before him ponderously.

"Are you getting in?" Minerva asked. D looked back at her and saw her tethering his cybernetic horse's reins to her saddle horn. "Doctor's orders, you know," she winked. D looked back inside, and saw both young girls had their fists buried in the lush curls that were Victor's hair. He deemed it safe to enter, and leapt lightly into the wagon. Although the interior was cramped and stifling, it felt as if he had just tumbled out of a fireplace. His whole body relaxed, and he propped himself quietly against some of the crates, out of the harsh line of sunlight.

"Don't try anything funny, Dhampire," Drayden rumbled gruffly, his sharp eye sliding back towards D.

"He's fine," Victor said sternly. D just kept quiet, wishing not to cause strife. He felt uncomfortable, but physically he was grateful for the lift. The herbs were beginning to take affect. His eye swung out over the vast desert and was surprised when it landed on Minerva. She was piling her hair up on top of her head, already sweating again. Heat wavered up around her. She looked very dark, blackened by the desert heat. Something about her seemed out of place. He couldn't put his finger on it.

His horse trudged along side of her, his eyes pricked towards her. Minerva had fallen several yards behind them and looked to be talking to it. The oxen plodding directly behind the cart lowed, and he studied their weary dark eyes. He turned his attention again to Victor, who was busy telling the two younger girls a story about a bridge guarded by a troll. They listened intently, their small fingers matting and braiding his hair. Drayden drove silently up front.

- Many Years Ago -

"Can we give you a lift?" asked the girl with a dark braid and blue eyes. "You don't look like you should be wandering around in the dark." Her smile was cheerful. He had watched the headlights of her truck as they cut down the old dirt road, but he hadn't expected a young woman to be along for the ride this late. She extended a rough hand to him, still smiling. He put his palm against hers and swung up. She scuttled up a few bails of hay and called for them to start moving. "Where you headed?" she asked, sliding back down and landing with a rough thump as the old truck started moving again.

"Just to the Inn," he answered, folding one leg up. She made herself comfortable, tucking both hands behind her head.

"No problem. We'll drop you off first class," she smiled, winking. "It's no good to be out on your own these days. You've heard all the stories about those spooks wandering around out here, haven't you?" He chuckled. "Yeah, they're pretty silly. I'd be more afraid of Communist supporters around here then Vampires and Werewolves," she agreed.

"What if I was a Communist?"

"A lot of good it would do you in that getup. You look like gentry," she laughed, her shoulders shaking. She was in coveralls, faded and smeared with grease. Old sweat still hung about her. She couldn't have been old enough to see the fall of the Wall, he reflected. "Did your car break down or something?"

"My horse was lamed," the man replied.

"Ah, that explains the gunshot," she nodded, swinging her eyes up towards the sky. They seemed to detail the smattered stars. "You must come from old money to have a horse. 'Course, you must be crazy to go around in the dark too. Can't you hear the wolves?" she sat up and cupped her hands around her mouth, letting out a long, high howl. She closed her eyes and repeated it, as a chorus of wolves echoed up to join her. The man smiled, amused as she dissolved into laughter, flopping back against her hay. Straw clung to her hair and clothing, while moonlight gleamed off of her eyes. "Better watch out or they'll come to get you!"

"Cut it out!" shouted a man's voice, thumping the side of the truck. "Don't want no wolves!"

"See? The wolves are out to terrorize us all, now that the Soviets have fallen," she cackled. "So, were you just out to see the sights?" she waved a hand over the desolate landscape.

"Beautiful moon tonight," he replied. She lifted her chin and exposed her throat to look up. She had delicate lines sweeping down her neck, and although it was darkened from the sun, she had pretty skin.

"Well, he'll keep the way lit. And maybe the guys up top will get good sleep and decide to spare the world from nuclear fallout another day," she sighed and shifted, lowering her chin so she could look back the way they'd come.

"Have you no faith?" the man asked sarcastically.

"Do you?" she countered.

"All the more reason to enjoy the moon."

"Ah, it looks like he's winking," she pointed at the moon, and he followed the line of her finger. When he looked back, she was chewing on a piece of straw, her eyes closed as she contemplated the cool breeze sliding past them. His heavy coat was just enough to keep out the spring chill, along with the fine riding boots and starched pants. He leaned back and made himself a bit more comfortable.

"I could see you riding a horse," she said suddenly, out of nowhere. He looked over at her. "Yeah, you have the right face for it. You look like a prince. I don't look it, but I'm a princess."

"Are you?" he humored her, catching the glimmer in her eyes.

"Yup. Kiss me and I'll turn into a wolf!" she leaped up, cupping her hands and howling up at the moon. She let out a long note, followed by shorter yips and another high note. "Come on, you winking womanizer! Come give the princess of the wolves a kiss!" she harangued the man in the moon, laughing. "He only kisses the pretty girls in the West," she smiled at him. "Or the handsome princes you find in the woods after their horses have been lamed."

"Cut it out!" a heavy hand banged on the side of the truck. She laughed, hands on her hips as she stood in defiance.

"Can't you hear my subjects?" she motioned over the suddenly very alive plains, filled with the howls of wolves. "But we're all slaves to the moon, really. Maybe we just envy him for his beauty. Come to think of it, you've got a face that might make him jealous."

She leaned in towards him, keeping them several inches apart. He smiled, indulging her curiosity as she was fascinated by his alabaster skin and the sleek, inky dark hair feathering around his shoulders in thick, straight swathes. His feline-gold eyes threw the moonlight back at her, playing off them and making them seemingly endless.

"Huh," she plunked down, looking away too slow for him to miss the heat of a blush. "Pretty enough to turn the moon pea-green," she shot him a smile. "If I had a face like that, I wouldn't be wrokin' this job, that's for sure." Self consciously, she scuttled back into the hay, burrowing like a termite.

"Raised by wolves, just as Romulus and Remus?" he asked her playfully, and she made a face.

"Certainly, can't you see my fangs?" she bore her teeth at him in the moonlight.

"Not yet," he replied. "Come closer."

"I'm not sure I could control myself with that pretty face of yours. They're awfully sharp fangs," she laughed, snagging another straw and chewing on it.

"Shall I show you mine?" he smiled, and she stared at him intently, gauging his words.

"No. Yours are probably real," she shook her head, her voice significantly quieter.

"You said yourself there was nothing but Communists to worry about out here," he goaded, extending one long fingered hand towards her. He watched her eyes follow his milky-white fingertips and her visibly restrain herself from recoiling. The wind around them was suddenly colder.

"You're scaring me," she said, her muscles resistant. He took his other hand and lightly curled the fingers around her elbow. With the slightest effort, he was able to unbend her arm and pull her towards him. She skidded onto her hands and knees, sliding across the truck towards him. "Please stop."

"A princess of the wolves has nothing to fear," he told her, forcing her to expose her wrist. The skin was lightly tanned, but he could see the veins beneath. Pulling back his lips, he bent closer and set both fangs down lightly on her skin.

"Stop!" she shouted, her free hand moving to strike him. He released her elbow and threw her off balance by wrapping his freed arm around her torso, twisting with his shoulders, and proceeding to pin her other arm to his side. Her damp forehead was against his cheek and neck now.

His fangs punctured the skin and slid down into the veins and tendons beneath. He pressed them just deep enough to coax a little blood upwards. Her fingers shook as he took a sip, and he restrained himself from gorging on her heady blood. Yes, she would do. He smoothed her fingers down against his cheek, covering the trembling tips with his much larger hand.

"Let me introduce you to the wolves," he said, standing and bringing her with him. He pulled her fingers from his face and placed them down where his heart should have thumped softly. A strangled sob escaped her, and he tightened his arm around her to support the weakness of her terrified knees. There was shifting and tearing along his back, before two heavy black wings opened wide, the joints cracking as they stretched loose the long dormancy. Like webbed spider legs, they folded back down around the man an woman. She tightened her fingers over the material of his coat and wrapped an arm around his back. He could feel her heartbeat throbbing madly against his chest.

The hay around them kicked up as he spread his wings and lifted them into the air with three powerful wing strokes. The truck rocked and toppled onto one side. He felt her worm and look back at the truck, but he held her fast. As they left it and the ground behind, she looked back ahead.

From the depths of her chest, a long, agonized cry burst free. As it echoed against the open fields, he couldn't help but smile. _Now_ she sounded like a wolf.


	2. Outcast

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the VHD characters, places, etc.

Chapter 2: Outcast

D finished with the curry comb and let his other hand rest on the neck of his horse. The augmented creature shifted its ears back, as if moderately confused by the lingering touch.

"_Even the horse likes her,"_ the parasite in his left hand spoke. D made no movements, feeling the heat rising up from the horse's arched neck. He could feel the natural sinews of muscle and the metallic ridges of cybernetic enhancements. _"Come on? What's wrong with a little cuddling in the dark? She wasn't even three feet from you last night! I wouldn't mind a little soft skin myself, you know. Don't be so damn stingy!"_

Minerva had been only a foot and a half away, breathing softly all night long. Her heartbeat had been steady all night, except when Rosy had startled her awake with the urge to pee. He had been hyper aware of her bare footsteps as they'd stumbled out across the plains, pausing with Rosy so she could do her business, and then the significantly more alert return. She had tucked Rosy back in and pulled the covers Carla had stolen from Victor back over her brother, smoothed some hair out of Drayden's face, and even tossed an extra blanket over D in a natural maneuver. With an absent pat of Rosy's head, she had snuggled back in with her sister, wrapping her up in a warm embrace.

Yes, D had been plenty aware of her all night. He didn't know what it was about her that kept him overly aware of her; that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle when she had stepped over him that night to get out of the wagon. But it was less in the physical realm and more intangible. Something about her had made throwing that blanket over him to keep him warm a natural move, despite his disturbing aura and the visible signs that he was a Dhampire.

"Ooh…"

A clatter from behind startled D, not because he hadn't heard the footsteps approaching but because it was so sudden. He spun around and saw Minerva leaning against the wall, panting with heavy sweat sliding down the sides of her face. Her eyes were unfocused, staring at the ground. The bucket she'd been carrying had fallen, water drenching her dress from the knee down. She looked a bit green. Her body gave a spasm and doubled over before she heaved the contents of her stomach.

D arrived just in time to comb the hair out of her face, saving her from having to scrub out the putrid smelling, partially digested dinner. She panted, doubled over and braced on her knees. D curled one hand around her arm, making sure to keep her hair back. She heaved again and whatever was left of dinner was now gone, spattered all over the hay at their feet.

After another couple of dry heaves, Minerva managed to straighten herself up. D pulled his fingers through her greasy hair, feeling the strands slide past his sharp nails and thread by the skin. He kept one hand on her arm, freeing the other from her hair and placing it on her lower back.

"Thank you," she laughed weakly. Her skin was dry and warm.

"_Sick,"_ D's left hand stated. D hadn't needed the obvious update.

"I think I just need to sit down for a moment." She took a shaky step back the way she'd come. The instant she moved, he saw her eyes widen a fraction and she covered her mouth, bracing once more against the wall. She gagged, a bit of bile trickling out of her.

"_She needs a doctor. This looks like sunstroke," _D's left hand insisted. When she had finished, D didn't let her move again. He instead plucked her up and carried her out of the stables. She had no energy to contradict him with, and the heat exuding from her dry skin concerned him. He hadn't seen her eat or drink much all day, and although she'd spent a deal of time in the wagon, she had insisted on riding a little early that morning. Drayden hadn't liked it, but had conceded when she'd said it was just until the sunlight came up. Come to think of it, Minerva hadn't used the bathroom all day either.

Jaiming was a small trading post, a typical frontier town with less then comfortable amenities. It was an outpost for trappers and soldiers, no real permanent residents except for a few wives and long time soldiers. They were hardy folk, not given to superfluous decoration or objects. D cut out of the stables and ran at break neck speed down Main Street. The barrenness of the town only made it easier to get to the doctor's.

"Minerva, are you faint?" D asked, prompting her to speak so she wouldn't slip into unconsciousness.

"Sorry, D," she smiled absently, her eyes half rolled back. "You sound a little…fuzzy." She was light in his arms.

"Please. Tell me about the old swing," D said, recalling the tale she'd told Rosy and Carla as a fireside family history.

"Mother and father…they met at the old swing…it's hard…to speak…"

"Please," he prompted.

"Ah…they…father built it…for a painter…so the painter could…could make his mother's portrait…and he found my mother there…the day they were to paint it…and so he had…he had her painted with his…with mother…because…he thought…ah…" He felt her spasm and dry heave again, before dissolving into a fit of coughs. They were almost across town anyway. "I've had this dream…" Minerva sighed. "I'm flying…"

D skid to a halt abruptly, sliding through the open door of the doctor's without losing essential momentum. He felt his cloak scrape around the old wooden door, heard a tear, but was unconcerned. The startled doctor, a man in his mid thirties, had leaped out of the chair and let it crash to the floor. His brown eyes took one look at D and the woman in his arms and assumed the worst.

"We can't do anything about bites! You're should know better!" he shouted, stumbling back a few steps.

"She's sick," D contradicted.

"It's incurable! You don't reverse bites!" the doctor insisted.

"Sunstroke," D explained more blatantly. The doctor looked at him warily a moment, before cautiously approaching and laying a hand on her forehead. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, and then he motioned towards a curtain. The doctor pulled it back and D bent to pass through, before laying Minerva out on a tough pallet. She was weak and limp as he released her, her face looking pale. Come to think of it, she'd looked a little pale and exhausted all day, even though she'd been entertaining Rosy and Carla admirably.

The doctor took one look at her and proceeded to check her blood pressure before nodding to himself. "Strip her," he said matter-of-factly to a middle-aged woman, before turning to a confused looking nurse. D vaguely recalled sliding past her in his hurry. "Get me cold, wet, sheets. We need to cool her off. Wet sheets are the best we can do. I've got to get her intravenous hydration _now_. Cut the dress off," he motioned at the middle-aged woman. She picked up the scissors and began shearing off the dress. Her hands were steady and cut clean through the worn cloth, and peeled it back.

"Get her sleeves please," the woman said to D, motioning at another pair of scissors. D didn't hesitate, just took them and slid the blades clean through. He was cutting through the right shoulder when he noticed a discoloration of the skin. Aware the sunstroke could cause discoloration he examined it closer as he pushed the cloth away, and realized it was a scar from a brand. "A" was burned into her shoulder, as if she was some cow to be marked.

"Your girl must be from Cossak," the woman stated, not stopping in her cutting. D helped her to get the cloth out from beneath Minerva.

"I'm fine…I just need to rest…" Minerva mumbled. D reached beneath her head and pulled her hair up and over the pillow, carefully laying it down.

"Cossak?" D asked.

"They still brand their adulteresses," she nodded before giving D the once over. "Though I can't says I blame her."

D let the remark slide, but it made him conscious of the fact that he still had one hand in her hair. He removed it immediately, letting his finger fall back beside him. He turned to find Victor or Drayden.

"Hey! We'll need payment!" The woman insisted. D dropped a heavy sack of coin on the table, aware that it was more then enough. Guilt gnawed at his consciousness. That should have been him there on the table, not Minerva for skimping on her water so he and the others might have more.

- Many Years Ago -

"There's more here!" she called, grunting as the weight suddenly became too much. The rubble began to push her down, and with some extreme effort, she managed to keep from crushing herself. His fingers curled beneath the oppressive slab of concrete and wire mesh, lifting it without trouble. The voices below gave a cry of excitement, rushing forward. The nobility waiting outside herded them quickly into a reinforced van, layered to keep out the worst of the radiation.

His hands slid beneath her thickly padded arms and hoisted her back up so she could stand. "How's the rest of the area? Did we get everybody?" she asked, tired. She accepted the support he provided. All day, she'd done nothing but scrabble through the remains of what had been Bucharest. They had been gathering survivors.

"That's all for today," he answered. In her mask, he couldn't see the look of frustration settle over her features, but he knew her too well to think she wasn't upset. "You cannot save them all, you know?"

"We should try anyway," she sighed, too tired to put up much of a fight.

"It's almost morning," he ended their half-felt argument, opening one arm to her as the joints in his wings arched, stretching upward as far as they could go. She stared down at his military boots a moment, before trudging towards him and accepting his ride home.

Dinner was the usual elaborate game of dancing around stabbing glares and hateful murmurs. She had stomached it quietly, growing accustomed to being ostracized. A Noble had slid past her, his pale, blue-white skin seeming sickly in the fluorescent lighting of the underground bunker. His eye strayed over her, and recognition passed through his features. He looked moderately irritated that he would have to walk three more steps to select his meal, but knew better then to touch her.

Still in the dirty old jumpsuit she wore beneath her protective gear when she searched for holocaust survivors, she was covered in sweat and grime. Her auburn hair was matted down against her skull, the braid hanging heavily down her back.

She laid a weary hand on the railing as she began up the stairs, spiraling upwards for what seemed like an eternity. They were burrowed deeply underground, miles deep, hibernating like the monsters they were slowly becoming. The layers of radioactive waste couldn't get them here, not burrowed like sleeping demons. He had built this place, cultivated for years and years, since before she was even born.

Her rough hand laid itself down on the stone passage, tracing the rough hewn walls of the bunkers she had spent the past year swallowed in. Her eyes wandered up the hallway and climbed the stairs, her mind abandoning the narrow realm of sight to pursue the upper stories where he dwelt with the other nobility. She contemplated going up to see him.

"You're grace only extends so far," burred the blue skinned vampire as he suddenly slid past her. Her blue eyes detailed the almost painfully perfect features of his face, and she wondered if he had been born a noble or was converted long ago. She wondered what he would say if she told him she'd like to reshape his jaw line with a hammer and chisel the ice sculptors used to use during the winter festivals. The smile curling her lips must have tipped him off to her unpleasant thoughts, because he stopped, accepting her unspoken challenge. "Your presence is an abomination. If we had it our way, you'd be nothing but one of the other cattle."

"What a pity you don't even measure enough to clean his boots," she replied, enjoying the crisp pronunciation of every word. He was Russian, and it had been a long time since she'd spoken any. It must have been back in sixth grade, back just before she'd been taken out of school. It felt like another lifetime ago. The blue skinned vampire's face was grooved with rage, and his claws flashed in the fluorescent lighting.

Red hot tears opened across her cheeks, and the reverberating power shuddering through her sent her tumbling to the ground. She crashed into the wall, managing by sheer luck to avoid slamming her head against the stone. Before she could properly react, she felt his hand close around her windpipe and begin to slowly crush it. He hadn't tightened more then a centimeter before the familiar long fingers wrapped around her assailant's wrist.

"Was I unclear?" he demanded, his alabaster face drawn taut with rage. The blue-skinned noble had no time to react before a spear-like motion had skewered him through the heart. He gagged, his pupils dilating, before crumbling into dust. She watched as her abductor and savior brushed ash from his finely pressed blue coat sleeve, and proceeded to offer her a hand up.

"Won't there be trouble now?" she asked, blinking a few times to clear the disorientation.

"My rule is absolute," he dismissed it. He pulled her to her feet and placed his other hand against her cheek, sliding his supple fingers back into her hair as his feline eyes discerned the damage. Warm lines of blood had trickled down her cheeks, dribbling along the sinews in her neck and dipping below the collar of her coveralls. She wondered if he was hungry, if he would give in this time and devour her completely.

As every time before, he resisted all temptation. His silky handkerchief pressed against her cheek, cool as water. He dabbed away the blood, cleaning her face. She studied the buttons on his jacket, wondering if his expression would ever change. It was always the same one, that familiar amusement and teasing in his eyes, the little quirk in the mouth that said she kept him guessing, or on a particularly rebellious day, he would have the full smile, baring every pearly white fang, and tell her that she belonged to him. It was a mixed blessing.

"Did he catch the nerve in your tongue?" he asked, tilting her head just so for the light to fall more favorably on the wounds. Her eyes lifted to his face, squinting in the harsh glow of sterile white light bulbs. "Such silence is unbecoming." To humor him, she tossed her head back suddenly and howled at the soulless electricity jittering through the circuits overhead, calling out to the perfectly smooth blue-white glass encasing the heated coils of each bulb. "Better,"

"Mm, but these don't smile back at me," she waved up at the light bulbs imperiously. She wondered suddenly how he could stand the disdain and aloofness of his fellow nobles. None of them smiled back at him when he made his decrees or insisted on the survival of mankind. She had her scruples about his reasoning, about the preference of live pray to the injections Nobility could consume and survive, but his effort was admirable and his control over the others was flawless. "Must make the days real long for you cooped up with these other Blue Bloods," she stated.

"That is why you're here," he answered. "Come. I find brandy helpful in the convalescence of humans." He slipped his fingers out of her hair, motioning for her to go ahead of him up the stairs. She proceeded, rolling the kinks out of her shoulder from the uncouth introduction to the wall.

"Do you speak from experience?" she goaded.

"Yours," he confirmed. She snickered, recalling the last time she'd gotten into the brandy and had spent the entire evening reorganizing his scientific library. It had taken days to undo the work of a few hours, but her spirits were considerably lifted afterwards.

His personal chambers were far removed from the dreary bunkers, more like a haven with the wood paneling and elaborate carvings swirling up the handmade, hardwood furniture. Every time she came, she would enter through the heavy double doors he opened for her and head directly for the small side table framed by four thick candles. She loved to trail her fingers across the patterned wood checkered in an inlayed board, select the wood-carved and stylized chess pieces and make the first move of the game, always playing the white. This evening was no different.

He was unconcerned as she moved her knight, a bold advancement on the board. She was restless, her cheek throbbing with her heartbeat, burning as if lines of fire slid down her flesh. Part of her was ready for a change, ready to look him in the eye and have a confrontation. The fiasco with the blue-skinned noble had only set her blood ablaze.

"Restless now," he stated, commanding her face as ointment allowed one fingertip to slide down across the relatively shallow wounds. It was as if he were a painter and she the canvas as he moved with ease and certainty across her cheek, layering smooth, stinging salve over the open, tingling injury.

"What's it all for?" she asked, watching him move a pawn without his hands. The dark stained wood slid forward, stopping exactly centered on a light tile.

"A future," he replied.

"Whose?"

"My own, of course,"

"I almost believed you had a heart," she smiled, selecting a pawn at random and jumping him up two squares.

"Everything is calculated," he corrected her, another pawn of his sliding forward boldly.

"Even with unexpected twists?"

"All accounted for," he agreed. She smiled and lifted her Queen, carved of blonde wood. She stole his cherry wood Queen and replaced it with hers, before holding the dark Queen over a candle. Both of them turned to watch the tiny flame lick hungrily at the unfortunate Queen's smooth sides. She twisted the Queen back and forth to expose all the sides fairly. Neither of them spoke.

"All accounted for," she repeated softly, mesmerized as she tortured the wooden piece, spinning her back and forth. "Everything is calculated…so then what am I? I am not livestock." She stopped twirling the piece and stared at him evenly, letting the Queen roast. He was still watching the Queen, before he reached out and snuffed the flame causing her suffering.

"She burns in the light," he warned softly, collecting the white Queen and standing her up in his palm. His elegant fingers opened wide, peeling away like lotus petals to display the blonde wood Queen, holding her next to the charred and abused form of the cherry wood Queen. "Where this Queen thrives in the light." He proceeded to collect the cherry wood King now. "One burns, and one does not. How is it that all great disputes between absolutes were settled in the past?"

She stared at the King and Queen standing on his palm, and understood. Her fingers slid around the charred Queen, clenching her tightly. "Nuclear holocaust," she pointedly ignored him.

His smile was slow and creeping, coming out like the sun behind billowing clouds. He said nothing, but knew she understood. She stared into his palm, gazing at her future, and wondered if she would be happy. Impulsively, she grasped both the cherry wood King and the blonde wood Queen and plunged them into the molten wax of the snuffed out candle, driving them deep.

"Let there be light," she stated, selecting a long match from the candle holder and stealing a bit of fire from one of the others still lit. She pressed the small flame against the still smoking wick, and watched as it burst to life anew. "I hope you have spare pieces. I was sure that today's random assortment of maneuvers would win." She carefully replaced the burned Queen on the proper side of the board.

"Will a few oddments do?" he queried.

"Only if the King is a watch," she replied matter-of-factly, seating herself and waiting expectantly. "And I was promised brandy." He passed her without a word, but she caught his feline eyes straying to the candle with the King and Queen melted into the wax, the bright flame between them.


	3. Children

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the VHD characters, places, etc.

Chapter 3: Children

"I knew we shouldn't have picked you up! Your kind only brings troubles!" Drayden shouted, every muscle wound so tight it could have burst. D gazed at him evenly. "You shouldn't have been in the wastelands to begin with! And now you've jeopardized my sister! If she dies I'll…I'll…" he fumbled for words, his face livid. His eyes darted back and forth on the ground.

"One more word and I'll break your jaw," came Victor's voice suddenly. The blonde stood in the doorway to the doctor's office, which had been vacated at Drayden's request. Drayden whirled around on his younger brother, gritting his teeth audibly. "What did you come back? A heathen? This man didn't come with the intention of hurting Minerva or causing trouble to us! You attack him like he's a tried criminal!"

"All his kind are! They can't help what they were born, but they were born monsters! They don't belong here! All they do is cause trouble!" Drayden shouted back. D felt every word scrape raw against his skin, gouging open his nerves. But he was more taken by Victor's suddenly furious rage, they way his eyes narrowed on his brother and the offensive stance he took, restraining himself from striking Drayden with visible effort.

"You will eat your words, Drayden! I hope you choke on them!" Victor snarled gutturally. "What divine inspiration gave you power to judge over any life! People are born as what they are, they do not choose it!"

"His kind is an abomination! If it weren't for him, Minerva would be standing here now!"

"Don't you dare talk like that! You owe every man, woman, and child human decency, Drayden, or have you forgotten that you're not a beast?"

"I should never have let a woman dictate anything, should have kept her roped and gagged in the cart," Drayden fumed.

"Minerva is head of this family, and you will accept it, Drayden." Victor's words hit Drayden like physical blows as the older man looked on his younger brother in shock. D felt uncomfortable still in attendance.

"That's ridiculous! A woman as head of the household? Minerva is to be cared for and looked after! It's your inability to control her that allowed her weaknesses to turn to vice, to climb into bed with some man," Drayden hissed, his temper returned anew. Victor laughed bitterly.

"Her weakness? Minerva is the backbone and heartbeat of this family. We survived on her sweat and blood after you were gone, Drayden. She took up the reins when mother and father died, raised two girls, and we both worked to keep a roof over our heads. She has seen us through good and bad and I will not stand by and listen to you demean her!"

"Stop shouting!" Carla screeched suddenly, making both men jump. She stood in the doorway, her hands fisted with an intense look on her blotchy, tear streaked face. "Stop shouting! All you do is shout! Why? How come Minnie is sick? Why are you so angry?" She broke down into the tears of despairing innocence, her small face crumbling. Rosy, huddled behind her, was sobbing too. Drayden looked flustered before he cast his eyes down onto the floorboards, while Victor crossed the room and embraced them.

"I'm sorry you two had to see this," he murmured to them. D turned ready to leave now. There was more strife here then he had initially thought, and he wanted in no way to stress it. "D, please accept my apologies for everything. You weren't supposed to get dragged into the middle of all this either." D paused, looking back at Victor. The young man lifted his face from his sobbing sisters, and there was kindness and sincerity in his eyes. Minerva was lucky to have such a brother to depend upon.

"It was no trouble," D assured him and went out the door. He passed into the afternoon light and wondered to himself how hard it must be to work out the strife and tensions of family life. He had never had such difficulties, had never been bound to anyone by blood, but instead had rebelled and recoiled from his lineage. He wondered if it was worth the heartache of the disputes and the pains caused by the sometimes selfish and irrational motivations of mankind.

"_Is that it? Are we just leaving?"_ his left hand demanded, irked at the brief and unexpected brush with Minerva and her family. _"What about Minerva? We don't even know if she'll pull through," _he bartered. _"It'll eat you alive if you leave without knowing. It would be another sin you know, to leave her in this bind that _you_ caused." _ The biting words crawled into D's already jangled nerves. He clenched his hand, but was already angling back towards Minerva's room.

He could hear Drayden and Victor still arguing, although in more subdued tones. Carla and Rosy were seated on the steps outside, scrubbing their faces clean as he approached. Their eyes lit on him and they sprung up.

"Can we come with?" Carla asked, and D found it amusing that the child could tell he was headed for Minerva. He nodded, and both Rosy and Carla leapt up, falling in behind him. He reflected on how odd a sight it must have been to the nurses in the courtyard as he strode past, his calm and controlled movements coupled with the distinctly Dhampire facial features, contrasted by the two little girls walking beside him without fear.

D stopped at Minerva's window and looked in on her. She was sleeping soundly, her hair spilling like a carpet of autumn leaves over her pillow as the damp sheets were tucked around her. The tip of the branded "A" was visible on her shoulder. Carla and Rosy were jumping to catch a glimpse, and he looked down on them.

"Can you lift me up there?" Carla held open her arms expectantly. D hesitated, and then bent and slid his fingers beneath her armpits. With no effort, he perched her on the window sill and bent to do the same for Rosy, keeping his shoulder close to Carla's back protectively. Rosy sat down on the sill and proceeded to startle him by slumping backwards against his chest. He was at first fearful that she was unwell, but laying a hand on her small, soft arm told him she was healthy as a hound.

"She'll get better, right?" Rosy tilted her head back to look up at him. D stared back down at her, and then proceeded to set her back up to support herself. He leaned forward through the window and outstretched his left hand, almost shy as he placed it against her sleeping cheek.

"_Fascinating…"_ his left hand mumbled so softly that only D could hear it. _"She and her baby will be fine."_

"She's fine," he answered, straining to keep the disquiet out of his voice. He wondered if Drayden knew, and assumed that Victor was already well aware. Straining his ears, he found suddenly that he could make out the murmuring of a second pulse, much softer, but healthy. An overwhelming wave of guilt wracked him as his hand recoiled. The best thing for this family was for him to move on. He'd already caused trouble, and almost irreparable damage. The child could have died, or been severely injured. Minerva would have a hard enough slate marked forever as an adulteress. The last thing she needed was to be considered a sympathizer for a Dhampire, especially as times were changing.

"Stay with your sister," he said to the small girls, lifting them from the sill and into the room.

"You go now?" Rosy asked, her large eyes fixed on him. He wondered when he had become such a favorite of the girl.

"Minnie will want to say goodbye," Carla's small brow furrowed. D looked between the pair of them and their sleeping sister. He recalled the motherly kindness that had given him an extra blanket in the middle of a cold night on the wasteland, and the tenderness that had tucked each family member back in. She would make a fine mother no matter what they chose to call her.

"Tell her goodbye," he said.

"_That's all?"_ his hand demanded as D crossed out of hearing range. _"And you seemed so taken with her."_

- Many Years Ago - _  
_

It was unbearable. Simply unbearable. She sat by herself, back to one of the endless bookshelves, and enjoyed the solitude. When had she stopped eating with the others? When had she begun locking her door? When had this knot of unease and frustration wound her insides into an elaborate sailor's knot?

Her hands raked back through her bangs, catching at the base of her braid. Frustrated, she pulled them out and tapped them irritably on her knees. Even being alone wasn't enough, her chest drawn tense as she remembered what upset her so. Her fingers twitched, impatient for some task her mind didn't know to provide.

She wanted to talk aloud, wanted to speak as she had openly with her mother, but there was no place for that here. The other people, the humans, they hated her. The women would turn their heads away and whisper, hissing poison that turned the hearts and minds of others cold towards her. The men, they would jeer and spit cruelties, would break her in any covert way they could. There were bruises on her shins and dappling her arms. And the nobility were even worse. Oh, they tolerated her. They invited her, begged her to bare her throat to them, to overwhelm them with sweet smiles and trusting the way she did for him. They were overly kind and the instant her back turned to them, they murmured slander and mockery. It hurt all the more because they pretended.

But the worst…oh, the worst were the others like her. They lay in their beds, bellies swollen, pale and sallow. Their rattling breaths passed between dry lips and seemed to shake their emaciated forms. No longer could they move, no more could they rise from their beds, nor speak, nor smile, only endure the torturous pain as their bodies decayed and withered. Only their eyes could speak, could convey hatred for her.

Her fingers shook as she smoothed them over her rounded belly, feeling the child growing inside of her. It was strong and restless, always moving about and kicking at her lungs and stomach. Playful, it wanted to wrestle with her, as if to draw her away from the hatred of the others. It had no name, but even just laying her fingers across the now sleeping – yes, it was sleeping for it had not moved recently – child brought an overwhelming peace to her.

Hers was the only child that did not drain her, that did not feed from her in the womb. It required none of her blood as nourishment for its life, but instead was pleased with the meals she was provided with. They ate together, companionably, and the child was never picky, had never rejected anything she had chosen to eat. It never made her sick as it grew, but rather worked to envelope her in a glorious aura of happiness and motherhood, and she spent endless hours speaking to it as the others isolated her more and more.

He had not been around lately, his quiet presence leaving a void as the fiery wrath of others intensified around her. She found herself missing him as well, reminiscing on the long evenings spent in discussion over a game of chess bereft of strategy on her part. He was fascinating, an entire library of information on everything from politics to poetry, science and religion. Just to listen to a story from his life, on the rare occasion he indulged such a tale, drew her in with rapt attention. She wished now, more then ever, that he was beside her and their child.

When had it happened? When had the moment come that she had come to depend on him as a companion, as a partner? She had always been cynical of their relationship, viewed herself as a tool in a darker repetition of Mary, for he was a dark God. But he had not treated her as a tool, had not been cold or calculating in his uses of her, nor voracious and disdainful. Rather, he had been a gentleman, had been gentle and sincere, and she flattered herself in supposing that she had not bored him with her charms or the daylight discussions and curiosity.

"What will it be for you?" she asked the child softly, drawing her knees up and curling as tightly as she could. If he was right, their child would live for eternity, just as nobility did, and it could walk in the sunlight, as she could. But…as the child grew, she wondered if it would be accepted. The human hatred and noble disdain for her as a human would be nothing, she feared, for a creature that belonged to neither world to begin with. She was frightened.

The door closed loudly. He didn't know she was here. She lifted her head, blinking away the tears. He didn't need to see that. He had enough things to worry about. With some effort, she managed to get up feeling the strain of extra weight in her lower back. The child was about ready to come out. It shifted, and she paused to let it settle. It brought a genuine smile to her face, and she felt the confidence to face him and lie about the troubles.

A strangled gasp startled her, followed by the shuffling of feet and candles crashing to the floor. She moved quickly through the bookshelves and came around, frightened that he should be injured. She could smell blood.

A woman's feet and dress were the first things she could make out as she came around the corner quickly. She caught herself on a nearby chair halting her momentum, causing it to screech across the floor. Her heartbeat coughed as her stomach dropped out, recoiling from the sight.

The girl there in his arms couldn't have been more then seventeen, young and lithe with an athletic build. He was curled over her, her left hand knotted in his hair as the right dragged across the carpet. Her mouth was open with eyes unseeing as he bent lodged to her throat, draining her as if he were starved. She arched her back and titled her head, causing a tear to open in the already mangled tissues of her throat, popping wetly. A hoarse cry of anguish rose from her, and she died.

The baby turned as if struck by the same terror its mother felt. The primal urge to defend kicked in as he lifted his eyes to her. They were the same eyes, cool and calm, perhaps a bit softened as he had answered the bloodlust. His face, though lightly speckled with blood, was familiar. And still, even though she recognized him, she feared him.

"This is what it is," he stated. "It is not very romantic, though I do not accuse you of such fancies." He gently settled the girl down onto the floor. There was almost no blood left to drip onto the carpet, and she looked partially dehydrated, her youthful face sunken and the skin too pale. "But I do not regret this price for immortality." He pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and cleaned his face, taking a step towards her. She backed away a step, her hands sliding protectively over her stomach. He stopped and looked at her, recognizing the signs of frightened prey.

There was silence between them as they each studied the other. She felt a growing calm in her. She had finally come face to face with what he was, seen with her own eyes what her mind already knew. Her gaze dropped to the girl and felt remorse, sorrow for a child's life ended so young. About to be a mother, she felt a terrible sorrow communing with a mother whose child had just been slaughtered like common cattle. And yet, when she had pulled this girl out of the rubble, she had known that it was very likely the girl would become prey to some noble or another. The paradox of her kindness struck her. She had allowed the trading of one death for another, decided that rather then let the girl die beneath the destruction of Bucharest that she would die at some unspecified time later, at the hands of a noble.

"I ask you to accept what I am," he startled her out of her thoughts. She realized how tense she was, and rather then focus on his question, worked instead to unwind every muscle. When she had done that and come out of a defensive pose, she forced herself to take ten paces to reach the girl, and then stiffly bent to close her eyes. The girl had soft eyelashes…

"Can I sit?" she asked as she stood back up. They were standing an arm's length apart. He took twenty three paces across the room – she counted – to one of the farthest chairs and pulled it back. It took her thirty paces before she could settle herself in a the chair and put her fingers to her lips, her mind far away and contemplating his request. He did not disturb her, accustomed to the expression with opaque, vacant eyes.

"I shouldn't be surprised," she said at length, after he had poured himself some brandy and seated himself across from her. She followed the golden edging of his face from candlelight. He hated electricity and refused it in his own chambers. "You never lied to me about what you are or what you want."

"It is different to see principle in practice," he replied. She was not certain if he argued or understood. Her mind turned over a number of things she had been raised with; morals, ideology, right and wrong. Then again, what had morals and ideology gotten them? Nuclear fallout was mankind's chosen answer. She smiled faintly at her own cynicism, wondering if it was now he that wondered what was happening in her mind.

She had witnessed murder for self sustenance, the act of slaughtering another being so that he could persist. He was no saint, but then she supposed no man was. And yet, it was he that offered her kindness and companionship, not the humans he fed from, not the humans she was a member of. Did that make her partial to nobility? Certainly not, she decided adamantly. Her fingers ghosted over the scars of almost a year ago, the gashes drawn down her cheek by a noble. It was the representation, the brand, of noble cruelty, and the only mark any noble would ever leave on her.

So…her cooperation with him had alienated her from all but him. She wondered if it was his design, and was amused when she found herself not caring. Yes, she grieved for the girl on the ground, she grieved that she had been part of making such a fate possible, and at the same time could not bring herself to hate him for such murder because she loved all the other pieces. Loved? Well, the word would do. Whether it was possible between them would probably never be answered. She wondered if he would think back on her a hundred or a thousand years after she was dead. Then again, what did that matter if he loved her enough here and now. But that was putting the cart before the horse anyway.

"What are your plans for our child?" she asked softly. In his endless patience he had been silent, allowing her to weigh her words and grapple with the ingrained teachings of her human heart and mind. He stirred now.

"It is to live," he replied simply. "It is to be greater then man or noble. That is all." She mulled his words over.

"Will that make it happy?" She drummed her fingers lightly on the table, looking him square in his golden eyes and commanding an answer with the boldness only a mother possesses.

"We can only give it the tools it may use for happiness."

He was too old for her, she sighed inwardly. He was ancient, a dragon of philosophy, the greatest contemplator there had ever been with hundreds of years at his disposal. And yet he promised to provide for their child, to give it what it would need to thrive and be happy. Was that not love in itself? Love for the child at least, even if it was not love for her…that would do. She loved their child, and she would suffer nothing less from him if he were allowed to be a piece of its life.

"I accept," she nodded simply, and she thought she saw his shoulders ease a bit. The child seemed to relax as well, snuggling down in her womb for sleep again after such a startling interruption. He gave her a slight dip of his chin, the closest she had ever seen him come to a bow. "I'm a little tired…" she sighed, raking her bangs back again and catching her fingers in her braid.

"You can stay here," he suggested. Her eyes shifted to the body absently. "I'll take her to be cremated," he reassured her. "Go ahead and rest." He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and provided the old skeleton key to his bedroom. They sat now in something of a parlor and library, where he kept many of his books and they often played chess. She let their fingers brush as she took the key and headed for the door, inexplicably weary now.

He stopped her so suddenly she almost jumped. His long fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist, asking more then telling her to pause. She obliged and looked back, meeting with the fine material of his coat's shoulder. His other hand slid between her elbow and side, before slowly settling down over the swell of her stomach. They both stood motionless. He could feel two heartbeats steadily reverberating through his silent chest.

Her comparatively rough fingers settled over the back of his hand. She had always had a peasant's beauty about her, something rough and charming, that had instantly set him at ease.

She felt him press his face into her neck and her skin prickle. It felt like he was smiling, a wide, almost beaming grin. She smiled too, proud and delighted to have brought him joy. _They_ were having a baby.


	4. Love

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the VHD characters, places, etc.

**A/N: **Horribly depressing...

Chapter 4: Love

D hadn't needed to urge his horse off the road to investigate the sunlight dappled cloth over by the low stone wall. The cybernetic beast headed that way of its own accord, the brittle brown and supple red leaves crackling beneath his hooves. The smell of decay and blood was in the air, edged in the winter chill not bold enough to frost yet. Still, there were plumes of breath from both he and the augmented steed.

He caught the flash of a long leg, the toes bare and slightly curled. The skin was creamy white, tinged faintly blue. He traveled up the exposed span of flesh, climbing over the folds and wrinkles of a mint green dress, the simple strawberry patterns of a woman's apron, counting six white buttons, before he stopped at a velvety curtain of red hair. It ran down her back, as vibrant and richly colored as the leaves around her and the golden sunlight lancing through the branches. Unbound, wild, and tangled, it fell down her shoulders and back, spilling like thick paint strokes over the ground around her.

D dismounted and knelt beside her, placing his hand close to her mouth and nose. The faintest wisps of breath fluttered like agitated butterfly wings on his fingertips. He moved then to check her pulse.

"_Not good…"_ his left hand reported. D slid his hand beneath the hair on her neck and drew it back like a curtain. A red stain had blossomed in her shoulder, darkened with a few hours age. Blood was still flowing sluggishly, part of the strawberry decorated apron torn and wrapped tightly around it. His attention fell to the bundle she curled around, held tightly in her arms. He moved to pull one arm loose.

Her hand closed around his arm with startling power, suddenly leaping back into life. Those blue eyes were suddenly as frigid as a clear December morning. As soon as they took in his face, they opened wider.

"D…" she whispered his name. He lifted his free hand and put it down over the back of hers, curled like a falcon's claws around a mouse. Her lips were startlingly blue-purple, deep bags painted beneath her eyes. Every blue vein stood out on her cheeks and down her throat, weaving down her exposed arms and climbing up her legs. She was cold as ice. As quickly as Minerva had come around, her attention shifted to the bundle wrapped in a cloak. She pulled her hand away from him and opened it up, exposing a wild head of white-blonde hair. A small child's face slept, and as her cold fingers invaded to check for life, the child started awake with eyes yet bluer then Minerva's. "Ah…" she breathed a sigh of relief, tears swelling in her eyes.

The features were sharp in spite of a child's natural fat. D studied the high cheeks and delicate nose. On impulse, he placed his left hand down on the cloak, silently commanding the parasite for an answer. He wanted confirmation.

"Dhampire," Minerva provided softly, the word falling from her purple lips somberly. He looked back at her and found her watching him. She was tired, but there was an uncanny clarity. "His father was after my brother Victor, but the prospect of an heir was more profitable, particularly if he could move in daylight," she explained. Her eyes fell back to the boy. D recoiled as if burned. "But I could not give him over to such a fate."

There was silence for a moment, the pieces sliding together in his head. The parasite must have known the instant he realized there was a child, but had kept it silent. The brand of adultery on her shoulder came back, as well as Victor's acquired knowledge of the aiding herbs for heat sickness. It also accounted for her kindness towards him.

"Can I ask you to take him to Victor?" Minerva shook him from his thoughts. He looked back at her, and found himself curiously mixed between repulsion and sorrow. "Please…I don't think I can make it so far." The boy wriggled around, craning his neck to better see D. He had enormous eyes, wide and clear. D hesitated. "Please, they'll find me sooner or later…I can't…I'm not strong enough to save him."

The note of desperation in her voice struck a chord in him. He wondered suddenly how long she had been fleeing, and how she had lost her pursuers with such a wound. It was apparent that she would not make it. He looked again, gazed intensely at the wound in her shoulder. He moved to untie the makeshift tourniquet, but she stopped him.

"There's no time for me," she told him intensely, her hand bitterly frigid against his palm. "Please, take him and go. You must understand what they will do to him."

"Ouchie," the boy stated, and both looked to him. He had freed one arm and placed his hand down just below the injury, frowning intently. "Mama hurt?" he looked at her in concern.

"No, sweetie," she turned to him immediately, a smile blooming on her face. His other hand came up and touched her chin, critically studying her purple lips and the hollows carved in her face. "Mama's just fine. She's a little tired is all." Pleadingly, she returned her attention to D, working to prop herself up and lay a hand on the boy's back. "Please D. Please save my son."

He stood and turned away from her. He could hear her breath seize up in her chest, and then her rustling as she propped herself up to sit.

"_Hey! Where are you going?" _his palm demanded. D squeezed his fingers into a fist to silence the parasite. There was something he needed to know.

"Are you judging him too? You of all people?" she demanded, her faint voice edged in hardness now. D didn't look back at her but crossed to the worried horse, pawing the ground anxiously. "His life is not a privilege to be granted. Regardless of his parents' sins, no one has the right to kill him for irrational fear or prejudice!"

"They will try," D warned her, taking the horse's reins.

"So you too then?" she asked, her voice trembling. D stopped and looked back at her, his hands on the saddlebags. "Have you tried to be Human so hard?" He made no answer, watching the distress wrinkle the skin between her eyebrows, and the way her eyes searched for him. He studied their panicked, erratic movements, and realized that her vision had faded almost completely. She was unable to find him, but he still felt exposed. "Congratulations, they've made you a human," she smiled sadly. "You have taken their hatred and made it your own now." She closed her useless eyes to swallow the lump rising in her throat. "It takes a small man to bare the unjust hatred of the world alone, but a great one to open his heart to those he has been taught to hate."

"Mama! Mama, why are you crying?" her son demanded, his soft hands touching her face gently. She turned blindly to him.

"I'm sorry…" she told him softly. She reached out and touched his side, patting him as a smile crept onto her face brimming with love. "I'm so sorry I wasn't strong enough…"

"…Mama…" he shook his head, confused and frightened. He pushed his face into her chest, his tiny fists bunched in her dress.

D bent and wrapped the saddle blanket around the boy's shoulders. She started, confused and shocked. Her face eased as she groped for his hand, and she dropped her head wearily. It fell into his shoulder as he allowed her to hang onto him.

"I'm so sorry D…you never would do something like that…" she told him apologetically. He recognized the stress, the long nights and years of frustration that had built up in her thinned frame. It was close to three years since he had seen her last. It must have been hard. He gave her a moment to recover herself, concerned that her time was running out.

"Saldino…Victor lives in Saldino now," she said.

"So far?"

"After Malacca was born, the townsmen of Durant turned on us. We had to leave in a hurry…I managed to convince Victor to let me go my own way…Rosy and Carla would have a better chance with him," she explained.

"Drayden?" he prompted when she didn't say his name. She lifted her face from his shoulder and turned it up towards him, her glassy stare close enough to roughly focus on him.

"…H-he covered the retreat…" she replied, unconsciously pulling the boy Malacca closer.

"I'm sorry," D told her.

"He died protecting what he loved…I couldn't ask for a better brother…" she gave a distant smile. Her breath was getting short, and it looked like she was having trouble moving. "Malacca…Malacca, look at me." Her son looked up, his face streaked with salty tears. "D is going to take you the rest of the way."

"What about you? I don't wanna go! I wanna stay with you!" he refused. She shook her head, trying to find her son. Her blue eyes searched vainly for what was right before her.

"Mama's just tired, sweetie. Go on ahead with D," she lied, her hands climbing blindly up towards his face. She cupped the boy's moonlight pale cheeks in her hands. "No matter what happens, you have to be brave, Malacca," she told him. "Promise me you'll be brave and strong. No more tears now…"

"I'm not going!" he refused.

"I love you, Malacca," she insisted. She reached forward, closing her useless eyes and gave him a kiss. With a bit of groping, she tightened the saddle blanket over his shoulders, bundling him up. "D's a good man. He'll take good care of you…"

"Mama…" Malacca sniffled. "You'll come?"

"You'll see me again," she promised, her eyes hunting uselessly now for D. "D?" On impulse, he reached out and put his hand lightly on her elbow. Clumsily, she slid her fingers onto his arm, aiming her face in the direction she thought he might be. "Take him, before…" she trailed off. "Thank you, D," she sighed. He nodded, aware she couldn't see it. Her breathing was labored now.

D wrapped an arm around Malacca and proceeded to lift him gently. He was pulling away from her when Minerva caught his hand and pressed it to her face. Her tears were like fire against the icy cold of her cheeks.

"I'm glad I got to see you again," she said suddenly. "Take care of yourself, D. I can't come and save you again…" she swallowed hard and smiled up at him blindly, red blood staining her teeth. She turned her face into his palm and gave it a kiss, before relinquishing it and leaning back. "I love you, Malacca," she called. "Be brave! Behave yourself!"

"Mommy!" Malacca gave a spasm as he reached back for her, but D held onto the boy and swung up onto the horse. Minerva was settling in comfortably, her breathing easing as he listened. Blood slipped down her chin, and D obstructed the boy's view. He laid his left hand down on the boy's neck, and the parasite instantly put him to sleep so he could not accidentally witness his mother's death.

D couldn't bring himself to look back until he was almost too far to see. He turned his head and saw her still breathing, her head leaned against the wall as her blind eyes watched them go. She had given it all for this boy, for the chance that he might live. D looked down at her son, fast asleep against his chest. Men had come for her son, and she had died in his place…he would make sure she didn't die in vain.

- Many Years Ago -

She panted, feeling her hands shaking. She realized suddenly she still held the bloody candlestick, and dropped it as if burned. There was blood soaking into the carpet, flowing profusely from the battered pulp of the body splayed over the floor before her. Spots of red smattered her dress, and her hair was tangled and sticky with sweat. She pulled up the hems and gave the unresponsive body a kick for good measure.

"What is this?" he demanded from the doorway. She didn't spin around, but continued to glower at the remnants of a servant. Her knuckles were white with rage, but it didn't stop the slow, burning sensation spreading from her stomach cripplingly. She looked at the table and then swiped the steaming plates of food to the ground, listening to the glass scream as it shattered on the floor and the wet plops of meat strike the floorboards.

His hands closed around her fists from behind, and he held her perfectly still as she struggled to quell the riotous anger choking her veins. The rest of her was shaking now, and pain was beginning to spasm through her core.

"She tried to kill him…" she whispered, he eyes glued hatefully to the servant's corpse. "She tried to kill our son!"

"What?" he frowned, alarmed. A lancing fire shot through one leg, and she almost cried out.

"The food…" she stammered. "She put something in it…he was taking so long to wash up I tried a piece…and she got nervous...tried to insist I wait…ah!" Her knees gave as they turned into small melting spots, as if the bone had been liquefied. He caught her as she fell, holding her up and turning her into his chest.

"What?" He repeated, and for the first time, she sensed shock and distress from him.

"He's fine…he didn't eat any of it…I realized when the pain started…and she tried to get away…but I couldn't forgive her…our son…she wanted…our son dead…" Breathing became intensely difficult, her lungs seeming to slowly turn to stone. He sunk to the floor and slid his fingers behind her head, pulling it back and exposing her throat. His lips peeled away from his fangs as he drove them into the tender skin there, urgently commanding the blood to flow. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling her tongue start to burn as her vision blurred and sharpened into acute focus. His hands…they were shaking…

"He's alright…that's all that matters…" she said thickly, one of her hands touching the side of his face. She gently forbade him from drawing any more blood, asking weakly that he look at her instead. "Take care of him…I wanted…but I can't…take care of each other…" she urged.

He watched the light fade out of her eyes and hunched back over her, pressing his face against hers and closing his eyes. She was usually so intensely warm. In hundreds of years, he had not enjoyed another's company so much as hers, the way the endless hours ceased to be so boring and the way her mind failed to conspire and plot allowed him necessary weakness. But she was gone, past the point of resurrection, died as human as she had been when she'd given birth to their son. It was an eye blink, one of the shortest moments of his life, the years he had spent with her.

He tried anyway, closing his jaws back over her throat and pulling every last drop of contaminated blood out of her body. He drank until there was absolutely nothing left and her skin had sunken partially with the loss of blood. He removed his fangs from her, and looked at the grossly exaggerated weariness around her mouth and eyes, and knew then that she had been silently enduring the hatred of the others for the sake of he and the boy. The treachery of the other humans was proof enough.

Laying her down, he passed a hand over his eyes and looked at the bludgeoned, nondescript corpse. The woman had been so thoroughly beaten that there was no way to tell who she was. Well, that didn't matter. He reached down and collected the sodden hair, before giving the neck a twist and pulling the head free. He stood and marched out of the room, past the son who had come in at some point and stood dazed and staring at the carnage before him. The child had never taken blood, had no true understanding of what he saw, but there was no time to explain it to him. Not when she was just gone and there were treacherous staff to replace.

The crowded mess hall was teeming with activity as men, women, and children broke their bread at the end of the night. He didn't bother announcing himself. His presence was always felt before he was seen, and so by the time he had reached the center table in the room, all eyes were on him. He lifted the severed head above the table, seeing people recoil as blood spattered down onto the clean wood. His eyes searched the room, his mind tearing into those around him, and found more then he had initially thought guilty.

That was all he needed to know. He released the head and let it begin falling, calling on old techniques he hadn't bothered with in years, since the days when he was a very young Vampire. It caused him to lose track of time, only to remember it when the smell of blood had drawn every noble in the complex to the servants' dining hall, and he stood alone. Every eye was on him warily, all watching and waiting to see his reaction. He looked down, too angry to be impressed with his own handiwork, and realized he stood ankle deep in blood.

"Clean it up by tonight," he told them tersely, and turned to go back to his chambers. His son was again behind him, gazing with wide golden eyes at the horrors around him. His dark hair fell in thick curls around his face and shoulders, and his long, pale hands hung limply at his sides. He stopped and looked down at his son, who slowly lifted his golden eyes to his father's.

"It is you this is over," he stated. "You are one of us and they will hate you for it." He hoped the boy would not forget this warning, or the lesson. They stood a moment staring at each other. The nobles swarmed into the room, gorging themselves on the feast he had prepared in his wrath. "You're tainted, a part of each world and belonging to neither."

"How could you…?" The boy asked softly, an intense look of anguish slowly spreading over his face. "How could you kill her?" He stood flabbergasted, unprepared for such an accusation. "You're a monster!" the boy exclaimed, angered by the silence. The child turned and fled, and no chase was given.

Instead, he went to his own chambers, somehow ending up there, and slumped into a chair with a cup of brandy. He gazed forlornly around him, lost and upset as he had not been since he was a young man. His eyes strayed to the chess board. He had never replaced the King and Queen she had buried in the candle wax, nor had he burned that candle ever again. Impulsively, he took the black Queen with her charred middle and held it in his hand, looking at it.

"I guess you burned regardless of light or dark," he said softly, closing his hand around it. He closed his eyes and proceeded to block out the chaos around him. There were wailing humans, feasting vampires, and waves of terror and exhilaration bombarding him. It was too much to cope with.

"Carmella," he called after some hours. The red headed vampire appeared before him, kneeling subserviently. Her red hair spilled over her shoulders, only surpassed by the stains of her recent feast. "Where is my son?" he asked.

"He has fled the compound and cast himself into the river…we were unable to pursue him…"

"Why was I not informed?" he snapped, preparing to tear her throat out.

"Numerous attempts were made to alert you, sire, but you were unresponsive and your demon servants refused us passage without your consent," she explained.

"Into the river?"

"He vanished in the rapids, and dawn is fast approaching. I have sent the Barbarois after him."

He was silent a moment as his hand closed around the chess piece, feeling it bite into his skin. If anything happened to the boy, he would be devastated. And then what place was this for him, this place that hated and despised him because it knew what he was? No, perhaps he was better off finding somewhere where no one understood what he was, and he might start anew.

"Have the Barbarois track him down and assign him a guardian and companion…and then allow him to go where he will."

"Sire?" Carmella frowned. "Is that wise?"

"Do not question me," he warned her. "Do as I say. There is to be no one following him, and no double agents. The assigned guardian is expelled from the Barbarois, forever. That is my decree. Go."

Carmella bowed her head and vanished, leaving him once more alone. He leaned his head back against the chair and drew in a deep breath. For this terrible loss, he had succeeded. He had created the perfect being, bearing the strengths of both worlds. Yes, this was his only success. There had been no others, and he doubted there would ever be others like his son. Hundreds of years had given him the knowledge and experimentation to make it so, but it had not equipped him to release the son that brought him great joy, born from the human woman he had grown to care for and appreciate so much. In one night, they were both gone.

"Strength and fortune, boy," he sighed wearily. "May the life she protected be worth it."


	5. Mother

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the VHD characters, places, etc.

Chapter 5: Mother

There. It would have to do. Unmarked and forgotten, but it was something. Minerva's body had been gone when he'd come back, and there was no sense in stirring up trouble to find it. Instead, he'd found a nice place off the road and piled a few stones up for her, before standing and staring down at his handiwork.

"_She was a good woman…"_ his left hand stated. _"Too bad the kid's too young to remember her."_

"Victor will take care of it," D replied.

"_It must be hard to be a mother." _

"Too high a price," D agreed softly, gazing at the rocks over the frozen earth. He wished he could have buried her properly. Minerva had died alone, utterly and completely. It seemed as if burying her with his own two hands would have been a small step at making that up to her.

"_She's not the only one who paid that price," _his had said darkly. D paged back in his long memory to the woman with peat colored hair and dark blue eyes, the woman he had spent the beginning of his life with. Her wide smile had seemed a true gift to him, until he began to realize how lonely she was and how empty the days were. He had never played with the other children, just as she had never interacted with the other humans except for a soft request or a few necessary words. Looking down, he wondered now if Minerva had suffered the same alienation. He assumed she must have, given her untimely end.

He thought back to that evening only a few years ago when Minerva had thrown a blanket over his shoulders in the middle of the wasteland. It was one of his most striking memories. She had treated him as one of her own, of the same caliber and kind as she tucked her family in and gave him an extra blanket. That her life had been turned so miserably solitary and hunted over her child, a child she loved enough to die for, wounded him. His mother had been the same way, had been the only one to reach out to him and pour every waking moment to his happiness and affection, heedless of the fangs growing from his jaw, his unusual height, or the bearings of nobility on his face and frame. It had not mattered to her, because he was her son.

"Do you know what happened that day?" D asked. The parasite was silent, mulling over his words. He let the creature think.

"_Only rumors," _he confided. _"It was rumored that your father killed all of those people in retribution but Carmella, captain of his guard at that time, quashed them all. Even utterances of that night were obliterated. I do know that your father was dangerously ill for a long time after he took your mother's blood."_

"You mean physically unwell?"

"_He almost turned to ash and required the purest blood for restoration. I have my own conjectures about what happened that evening, but the only one you'd be interested in was that the servant in the room with your mother was bludgeoned to death, and your father was a much more exacting murderer, even in his own fits of rage."_

"And?" D prompted. He got no answer, only an adamant silence informing him that it was up to him to formulate his own opinions.

D wondered if Minerva would have liked his mother. She had always seemed very subdued and tired, heavy with sorrows but happy to smile at him. Minerva had been much more vivacious, appeared with a brighter outlook on life. Still, each of them had loved children the rest of the world had hated. His own mother had loved a Vampire, and for that he couldn't forgive her, but she had loved him too…she had loved him. For any other sin, wasn't that the most beautiful and unforgiving love? The love of his mother had come in spite of him, in spite of his mixed blood and his father's race, in spite of the cruelness and ostracism rained down on her because of him. Minerva's love had been the same, the same love for her son in spite of her death.

He and Malacca were lucky, D realized. Their mothers loved them, truly and deeply, with all the strength in their souls. Suddenly, this small pile of rocks built as a meager memorial for a remarkable young woman became more then that. It was the only way he knew to honor the sacrifices of Minerva and his own mother, and he finally reached inside of himself and released the heavy knot of anger that had rusted itself over his heart. Whoever she had been, his mother was suddenly embodied in Minerva and finally laid to rest.

"_What was her name?" _the parasite asked.

"Mother," D replied.

"_What is it with you and names?" _he groused irritably. D almost smiled as he went to the horse and pulled off the saddle blanket once more. He moved a few stones and threw the blanket over the others, securing it by rebuilding the monument. He bid the remarkable duo farewell, the red head and brunet, both with dazzling blue eyes, and mounted his cybernetic horse. He made his way back to the road and began riding east at an easy gate. He didn't look over his shoulder with grief, but looked ahead with resolve and acceptance.


End file.
